


Just another Sunday night

by Jonah_Smith_907



Series: Some fluff shit, some rough shit. [8]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Clint is stubborn, I don't know how to tag this thing, Wade is pretty cool, and chaotic, and pissed off by Phil, and really tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 12:19:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15315369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonah_Smith_907/pseuds/Jonah_Smith_907
Summary: Clint comes home after a mission and is attacked. He kills that ass and goes to get rid of the body where he meets Deadpool.Based off a prompt I read somewhere. Probably tumblr.





	Just another Sunday night

Clint threw his keys on the countertop and kicked the door shut behind him. 

Today had been another awful day in the life of one Clint Barton. Coulson had been a smartass and a dick throughout the entire day, just because a mission had gone wrong and it might have been Clint's fault. But that was only because his hearing aids had been damaged by an explosion. At least he could relax for the next few days. 

Because he was so terribly good at relaxing. He always ended up doing crazy things. The last time he'd tried doing nothing, he'd ended up building an arrow that exploded not when it hit it's target, but when it was released. The only reason why he wasn't blind or anything, was because he'd started with a small amount of explosive.

Though he still wasn't sure why he'd built that thing in the first place, he figured he could probably use it at some point. Maybe to trick some enemies into using the weird arrow? Maybe.

He wasn't gonna do that again anyway. There had been enough explosions in one day already. He just wanted to nap and maybe get a sandwich from somewhere.

Merely half an hour later somebody kicked his door in and started shooting at him. 

“Goddamn it! Shit, shitshitshit!!” the archer cursed, jumped off his couch and tried to get his bow out of his bag. It got stuck in the fabric, so he pulled harder and the bag ripped apart, but at least he had a weapon now. He shot the attacker dead with a single arrow. There was absolute silence for a minute. Then he let out another string of curses and went looking for something like a body bag. While doing so, he called Phil.

“Did you know that apparently everybody knows where I live?” he asked, panting a little. “And did you also know,” he continued “that one of those everybodys just tried to kill me?”

“Are you hurt?” Phil calmly asked. There was the sound of paper shuffling in the background. Probably had something better to do than listening to Clint. To the Clint he actually had a relationship with. Bastard.

“Oh, yes, I'm lying on the floor, bleeding out,” he huffed sarcastically. 

“Wouldn't be the first time,” came back the dry answer. Again Clint huffed. “Do you need anything? A clean-up-team for instance?”

“No. I'll manage. Just wanted to tell you to keep better track of the bad guys instead of letting them find out my locations all the time.” He hung up without waiting for and answer. Now he just had to get rid of the body. Shouldn't be too difficult on a Sunday night.

However, as it turned out, it _was_ difficult to get a lifeless hitman into a trash bag. Maybe he should invest in some real body bags at some point. Together with new coffee. He only had two packages left. 

He threw a rope onto the heap of dead man in front of his broken door and took a last gulp of coffee straight from the pot. Then he hauled he corpse over his shoulder, though not without cursing again. Because holy shit, that asshole was really fucking heavy. Maybe he should hotwire a car.

He hotwired a car. It was ugly and old, but it would be enough for the job.

Maybe he should have taken the clean-up-team after all. Would have been easier. But, being the stubborn little shit he was, Clint had of course have to decline the offer. Why should anything in his life ever be easy, anyway? Besides, he didn't want all those people in his building. That would raise questions from his neighbours and he didn't like talking to them about a dead hitman in his flat.

So now here he was, standing on a pier, tying a heavy rock around the body's waist. It wasn't exactly the most original or most efficient way of getting rid of a dead person, but he didn't have a big oven at hand. Unfortunately. Maybe he could get one of those, one day.

He was about to gracelessly drop the body into the water, when a movement to his left caught his eye. He froze ever so slightly before turning his head.

There was standing a man, dressed in red, hovering over an unmoving man. For a second he thought it was Matt – or rather Daredevil – but then he noticed several weapons on the suit and the lack of horns on the mask. Besides, Daredevil did neither carry weapons – aside from his billy clubs – nor did he kill. 

No, it was Deadpool. 

And Deadpool was currently about to shove the body over the edge of the pier and into the water, but he had stopped dead in his motion and stared back at Clint. Then he gave the corpse a little push and it fell into the black water. 

Without really thinking about it, Clint copied the movement. Then both men got up and closed the distance between them. 

“Hawkguy,” Wade greeted. “How's it going?”

“It's Hawkeye.” “Right, sure thing, Clint.” “What are you doing here, Wade?”

“Well, it appears I killed some fucker, so I had to get rid of him.”

“Since when do you get rid of bodies?”

“He was the kind of ass people don't usually kill and I don't want the entire Russian mob on the hunt for me. I just got my lady back and don't want her to be killed.”

“Cool.” Clint smirked. 

“And you? Who did you kill?”

“I don't actually know. He broke into my apartment and tried to kill me, so I killed him.” He sighed. “They keep finding out where I live.”

“Huh.” Wade looked at the reader with a smirk. “You'd think good ol' Stan wouldn't do that to our good friend here.”

“Who are you talking to?” The archer frowned. 

“The voice in my head.” He gave him an innocent smile. Or it was supposed to look innocent, but it rather didn't.

“Right.” Clint squinted at him. Then he pointed behind him to the old car. “I should get going. I have a door to fix.”

“Yeah, you do that.” The other man started walking backwards. “See you around, cupcake.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me some feedback please, I'm living off of comments


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